


From the Ashes

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Curses, Dwarves, Ents, Escapes, Fights, Khuzdul, M/M, Magic, Minor character but still, Original Character - Freeform, Revenge, Royalty, Secret Past, Slash, Thorin has no idea what's coming, Thrones, murders, schemes, secrets of all kinds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:49:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bird's call sounded from the window. Thrain struggled against the hold of the woman and tried to go towards it. It felt as though he was bound by a thousand chains. He had no care for the difficulty, he had to reach the window before he forgot. The bird had struck his memory, and he must think before it was gone. He must save his son.</p><p>Thorin could not be lost to this madness. He had signed the order, but he could have them save their prince. </p><p>"My King!" Her voice bound him to the floor. "Why do you run from me?" He could hear her moving closer as she spoke. The fog of confusion thick. He could not now recall what he had fought for. Her fingers slid up to his neck, and a prick of her nails was all it took to make him walk to her side.</p><p>Had his mind been his own, he would have been disgusted at how like a trained dog he was.</p><p>"Yes, my king. Come with me. I will find your dinner." She drew him back and away from the window. The bird cried once more, its voice urgent and pleading, but Thrain no longer heard it.</p><p>Even as his heart pounded in fright and his breath grew ragged, he followed the black hearted queen to her tower. The curse was already cast. Thorin's life would be forfeited by night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to be the base for an original novel I'm writing, so let me know what you think. Any suggestions and the like are welcome :D

Erebor had been beautiful in Thrain's youth.  He could remember the sight of her rolling hills stretching out endlessly before him. Unexplored and calling for him to lose himself in her lands. There had been forest, swamps, rivers, and the beautiful mountain to explore. No matter where he looked, something fantastic and unexpected could be found. The land was steeped with magic and wondrous creatures. She had attracted them to her like flames called to moths.

She had never been destructive in her summons. So long as her residents did not abuse her, she allowed them peace and prosperity.

He had never thought the abuse could come from his own hand. He would have thought there was no power in all of creation that could drive him to such.

The creatures that inhabited Erebor held a connection to her land that he had never seen elsewhere. Perhaps that was why all had passed. It would not have happened had they not loved so very much.

In the end, he could only think of love to blame. To do otherwise would be to admit that it had been his own heart that had betrayed his beautiful land. That he was capable of the greatest of evils for simple beauty and lust.

So he stood at the highest tower in his no longer gleaming palace and looked out at the dying fields. The air was stale and no hint of the spring that should have been warming the earth was present. The only warmth to be found was directly at his back. Slim arms were around his waist and a sharp chin was pressing against his shoulder.

"Do not heed it." A silky voice whispered against his ear. He could feel the brush of her breath ruffling his hair. It was a small point of contact that could not be ignored. Whatever spell she had woven around his mind was consuming. "There is food a plenty in my halls. Come, my King. Do not tarry here."

Food a plenty... The lands had once boomed with food. Magic had made their harvest plentiful. The songs of life had flown about the air as freely as birds. No food had been so palatable as that which was grown in their beautiful country.

He let himself be dragged backwards with a last glance at the window. A single cry pierced the air and Thrain's heart pounded to hear it. A sweat broke out across his brow as his breath escaped in a strangled gasp. The bird was familiar to his ears-nothing more than a simple Raven- but it pained him deeply to hear. He had not heard or looked upon a bird in six long months.

Not since the arrival of Ungoliant.

He had found Erebor in his youth, and proceeded to win his place among her people. Their queen, Freris, had been lovely to behold, and held the heart of all that was best in the world. Her eyes were kind and her smile joyful. He had become instantly smitten and found a position as her guard.

He would never have thought she too could love him. Their union had been a happy one and he had wanted for nothing in this wondrous world that had gifted him so very much. There did not seem to be an end to happiness, and the joy of his people could not be measured.

But death had come like a thief in the night to rob him and his people of their joy. They had lost their queen, he his wife. There had not been and to their suffering, of his pain, until she had appeared.

Ungoliant.

He could not now say where she had come from. His earliest memory could simply recall her approaching the throne. He had embraced her at that time, so it had not been their first meeting. She had leaked into the castle like a poison. Slowly so that no one noticed until they could not breath. Until it was too late to seek any aid.

The embrace was the moment he had lost himself. He could no longer see the beauty of his land, or hear the cry of his people. There was only her beauty and her wishes.

The bird flew past the window, continuing its upward climb. The tips of his wings flashed with silver light in the waning sunlight. It was a single bright spot in the darkening world, nearly devoid of all other color. He struggled against the woman's-his new queen-hold and tried to go towards the window. It felt as though he was bound by a thousand chains. It could not be more difficult to move the mountain itself. He had no care for the difficulty, he only knew he needed to reach the window before he forgot. The bird had struck the chord of his memory, and he must call out before the music of it faded away entirely. He must save his son.

Thorin could not be lost to this sweet madness. He had signed the order, but he could warn them to save their prince. The last tie to the beautiful Freris.

"My King!" Ungoliant's voice struck through the air like a whip, binding him to the floor and removing all mobility from his form. He would not have been more still had he become a statue. "Why do you run from me?" He could hear her moving closer as she spoke, a constant and taunting presence in his mind. The fog of confusion rose as she spoke. It wrapped itself around his mind, blocking away the light and the song of the bird.

He could not now recall what he had fought for. As her hand brushed along his arm he found himself trembling, though he could not have said why. Her delicate fingers slid up to his neck, and a prick of her nails was all it took to make him walk backwards to her side.

Had his mind been his own, he would have been disgusted at how like a trained dog he was.

"Yes, my king. Come with me. I will find your dinner and we shall feast." She drew him back and away from the window. The bird cried once more, its voice urgent and pleading, but Thrain could no longer hear it.

Even as his heart pounded in fright and his breath grew ragged, he followed the black hearted queen to her tower.

-[]-[]-[]-

Imoen had no care that her king had been taken. She had no care that the land was dying under her feet, or that the magic she had so cherished all her life was being strangled. She had care only for the child nuzzling her neck in its sleep. He was dreaming of something unpleasant and she would have calmed him on a different day.

Now she simply hoped he would stay silent. He was heavy in her arms at a year of age, but she would not let him go. Her aged limbs would hold him until she breathed her last. He would only be removed from her side in death.

"My lady," Quickbeam was no more than seven summers. His green hair was wild from the wind, and his brown eyes were glazed with exhaustion. She did not know what the Ent had endured to reach her, but the sapling would aid her in any way he could. Of that she had no doubt, "the way forward is not safe."

"It must be traveled." She tucked the baby closer and ran a soothing arm over his back to calm his whimpering. What a dark dream he was having... She could only hope it was not of that night. That terrible night when the witch had entered the castle and all had been lost. Imoen would never forget the cries of their beautiful queen.

"Is there nothing else we can try?"

A screech of pain echoed down from the hall above them, deep and terrible. It made her arms jerk around the sleeping babe, and she nearly gasped. Quickbeam's eyes rose to the ceiling and a look of hate morphed his soft, young, features into something old and terrible for a moment. The scream answered the Ent far better than she ever could have. She could see steely resolve hardening in the Ent’s young eyes. He would not now fail her. Whatever his path, whatever the choices, he would see their duty was done. He would guard her back and make certain no other knew where she had gone.

Thorin's nose brushed her skin, chilled from the night's air. His tiny hand tightened its grip on her cloak as he fought whatever darkness was trying to claim his dreams.

"Come, my lady. We will seek the path of Dimholt. I cannot follow you along its dark tunnels, but you will have the entrance."

"That is all I have asked." To follow her would mean the young one's death, and she could not willingly allow more to die for her. Death's sweet embrace was what her own heart yearned for, with so much lost, but she could not abandon hope just yet. Not while she still held so precious a bundle.

The Ent turned and headed down the stairs with quick steps that made barely a sound. Imoen's own steps echoed loudly around her. Each echo felt damning. The pack around her shoulders was immensely heavy and felt as if it would crush her before she reached the stairs bottom.

"Here." the sapling stopped suddenly and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes met hers for no more than a second before he was pushing at the right wall. Nothing happened for a breath, and then the entire wall was moving. She took a step towards it and the Ent held his thin hand up. She stilled as he lowered all but his index finger. He put that digit to his lips in the universal signal for quiet.

For a small eternity she heard nothing, and then, quiet as a mouse's squeak, she heard a faint clatter. Another sounded half a second later, followed by yet another. They continued in that pattern, growing ever louder. There was a strange metallic ring to the sound of it that was unfamiliar.

Quickbeams hand on her arm drew her attention back. He mouthed one word to her, and she felt her stomach plummet.

 _Guards_.

Thorin chose that very moment to let out a sob. His small head jerked up and his black hair fell over his eyes, making him sob all the harder. She clutched him too tightly in sudden fright while Quickbeam grabbed hold of both her arms. He tugged her forward as the footsteps behind them quickened their pace.

"Quick," he gasped as he shoved her through the hidden door, "into the tunnel!" He followed her inside and took hold of the rock door that had been part of the wall. He shoved it forward with more strength than one so small should ever have, and it locked shut with an extremely loud thud.

Thorin continued to cry on her shoulder as they were surrounded by utter darkness. She hummed absently to him, her heart in her throat and her hands trembling. She felt Quickbeam step nearer her, and the sapling's nearness made her feel as though all was not quite lost. He murmured something under his breath that sounded like a chant. A faint glowing spot started to appear in the darkness before her. She thought for a moment that she simply imagined it, but it grew steadily brighter and could not be denied before long. After a minute or so, it lit the are around them enough that she could see Quickbeam's form. He was bent over with his hands held out in front of himself. They were palm up and the glowing orb was hovering above his fingertips. It was a blue glow that should have felt cold, but spoke instead of starlight.

Quickbeam met her gaze once more, and she felt calmer for it. Thorin settled down in her arms and clutched her cloak as tightly as his tiny hands could manage. "It's only a little further to the path, my lady."

She had never thought to venture down the forsaken path, but desperation left for little opportunity in the way of sense. She would go forward until she could go no further. The king had been driven to utter madness by the enchantress he had crowned as queen. How the witch had convinced the strong dwarf to declare a death sentence on his own son, she would never know. She did not need to understand such madness. She simply knew what she could do. She was nursemaid to the royal family, and had a duty to preserve the line while she could. She would carry the prince away from the palace and into the forest. There she would find her path forward.

Thorin had done nothing to deserve death. If his father would not love him, then she would. She would give her own life for his. There was no cost too high for his survival.

Quickbeam led the way down the dark tunnel without saying a word, and she asked no questions. However the Ent had come across the knowledge of this secret way, she was grateful. It was no difficulty to tuck Thorin against her chest and follow the sapling as quietly as possible. They traveled at a slight incline through the tunnel for an endless time. Nothing changed in their surroundings, but the musty air seemed to grow lighter the further they went. She found strength she did not know she possessed from the sleeping child in her arms, and she followed with growing determination.

Each step sealed her fate. She could never return to Stonefjord after this treachery. The prince's life was worth it, but it was a heavy price to pay.

The sapling's pace quickened quite suddenly and Imoen peered into the darkness only to realize the corridor came to an abrupt end. There was no further path forward, to the left, or right. Her pulse raced but it was calmed by a glance from the youngling. He smiled shakily and pointed upwards. She lifted her gaze and blinked in the dull light. The orb was brought higher and she was able to make out a rope ladder that was attached to the roof. There was a faint outline of a trap door visible as well, if she squinted.

They climbed up easily enough, and she soon found herself at the foot of the mountain.  The black forest of Mirkwood stretched before them, and she could feel Quickbeam shuffling closer to her.  She felt uneasy herself. She was not certain as to the why, but the forest gave her an ill feeling in her stomach.

"I cannot enter that forest, my lady. You will have to continue along alone. Do not venture off the path. If you stay true you will reach the other side in two days’ time. If you depart from the path, then you will never find it again." He glanced at the woods and the small split between the trees warily. When he looked back at her, his amber eyes were pained. "Something powerful dwells in those woods. He owes allegiance to none and will not care who you worked for, or who you flee from. He may aid you, or he may do great harm." The Ent stepped forward and raised his hand to hover over Thorin's brow. His eyes grew brighter, more golden and wider, and a soft song poured from his lips. It sounded ancient as the trees that decorated the forest before them, and powerful as the mountain at their back. Thorin murmured in his sleep and stiffened. A moment later and he opened his eyes to reveal the pale blue of his irises. They were the same shade his father's had been before the madness.

"I have given him an old blessing. It has never been bestowed on another race." She met his gaze and a strange understanding passed between them. They held, between them, the only knowledge of the prince's survival. He alone held their hopes. He alone held the power to defeat Ungoliant. Should she survive her journey, she would hide the young dwarf until he was of age. Then, and only then, could he learn the truth.

Then he would have to travel a dark path to freeing Erebor.

"I do not imagine I shall ever see you again, my lady. I thank you for the kindness you have bestowed upon me and the child." His cool fingers brushed her arm, a simple caress that spoke of the affection they held for each other. It was an unusual friendship, perhaps, but it had been her dearest in the last few years. The fire of hate had tested it, and made it stronger. There was not now anything that could break the loyalty she felt to him.

"Farewell, dear Quickbeam." She dropped a kiss to his wispy head and murmured a prayer of blessing. It was all she had to offer. "May your roots never feel the frost."

He pulled back and gave his head a decisive nod. She looked at him for but a moment longer, memorizing the sharpness of his face and the brightness in his eyes. With a final breath she turned and started down the path into utter darkness and hope.

-[]-[]-[]-

"I," Dallin huffed as he inched closer to the branches edge, "am never listening to you again." His knuckles were white from how tightly his fingers gripped the wood underhand. His legs were firmly clamped around the branches base, and Thorin did not think he had moved more than a foot in the last hour. He could have easily said that he had forgotten how against heights his friend was, but it would be a lie.

One the entirety of Dale would call his bluff on. Dwalin was loud about his dislike. When he did not care for something, anyone within shouting distance knew of his disdain. Even people in the town whose names he did not know would be able to tell you that Dwalin Fundin's Son did not care for heights.

All of which might have been the reason Thorin could not quite seem to stop his smile. It was always entertaining to watch Dwalin when he was frightened, but never quite so much as when it was heights that was doing the frightening. The powerful dwarf became utterly immobile. His strong arms would latch onto the nearest object -even if that was Thorin- and hold on for what they felt was dear life. His eyes would usually slam shut, and he would more or less whimper where he stood until someone came to free him from his misery. Usually Thorin.

He couldn't remember a time when his brother hadn't been afraid of heights. Just as Thorin had always been uneasy in tight spaces. It was a deep, instinctual fear. One that was impossible to fight against.

Thorin was the only male that could make Dwalin face a height. Imoen was the only female.

"I was not the one who decided that Honey was needed. I can enjoy Imoen's cakes without honey."

The tree bound dwarf sent him a glare that would have been quite terrifying if he wasn't quite so pale, and his hands weren't quite so tight in their grip. It was a wonder they hadn't yet broken the branch. He half considered saying as much, but the dwarf would probably refuse to move any further.

The hive that was his goal hung a few feet above his head. If he sat up properly and stretched he'd be quite able to reach it without going any further. Thorin had already made the busy bees drowsy with a good dose of smoke. He was going to have to light another branch and send them back to their naps if Dwalin hesitated much longer. Had he agreed to fetch the honey, they would have already been enjoying their cakes.

But he could never pass up the chance to watch Dwalin try and climb a tree. It was not a pleasure one ignored.

"She asked you to fetch it." The dwarf tightened his hold on the branch, which should not have been possible was strangely was, and started to push himself up. His arms trembled with the movement and Thorin very nearly betrayed a grin.

"She asked  _us_ to fetch it, brother." He spoke the words candidly and leaned back against the tree's trunk. The fire burned a few feet away and he held a branch in his hand that was ready to be lit at the first sign of stirring bees.

"And you said you'd climb the tree." Dwalin was nearly up right, and he was breathing as if he'd just hiked to the top of a mountain. If Thorin had been near enough he had no doubt that he would see sweat upon the dwarf's brow. He felt a little guilty, but it really was far too late to do anything other than wait. Dwalin was already up the tree. It would be far too difficult to bring him back down.

"I recall nothing over the sort." The banter was always easy to keep, and his best means of distracting the distressed dwarf.

"Your memory always seems to worsen when there is trouble, brother." Dwalin managed to growl the word as he removed one hand from the branch. He held still for a long moment, far longer than necessary, and finally continued. He reached upwards, his trembling hand going for the hive and the honey it encased. It really was amazing to see him so frightened. Thorin had watched him take on a bear to protect Dale's harvest and he had not even hesitated. Yet a tree could practically bring him to tears.

He should probably feel a bit guiltier.

He pushed off the tree and took two steps forward, with his eyes above. He opened his mouth to speak when the hairs on the back of his head seemed to stand on in. He felt his entire body freeze as his chest tightened with the feeling of being watched. It was not an unusual sensation, but almost always led to the discovery of something less than nice. Last time it had been a bear.

His eyes immediately went to the trees in front of him as he adjusted his grip on the branch. He no longer held it as a torch, but as he would hold a club. There was no sign of movement in front of him, but the wary feeling was spreading up his spine. All was not as it appeared.

"Thorin?" He had moved beyond the branches of the tree without realizing it. He looked up to find Dwalin staring at him with a wary frown. He had released his hold on the hive and was gripping the branch with both hands. "What is it?"

He made to answer when a high pitched whistle echoed through the air. He dropped to the ground thanks to instinct and familiarity with the noise. The noise faded and he darted forward. Dwalin, nearly forgotten in the terrible moment, fell to the ground with a yelp.


	2. Chapter 2

_The woods were dark and far colder than the castle had been. The sun was only setting, but it could have been midnight for all Imoen knew._

_If she turned around she would probably no longer be able to see the place she had entered the woods. Quickbeam would guard her exit for a while yet, and there was immense comfort in that thought. For all the stillness that surrounded her, she was not truly alone. There was someone, no matter how far, who truly cared for her. Who would work to find her again._

_Such thoughts gave her courage to continue onward._

_It was quiet, heavily so. The path stretched before her into the darkness to disappear in the shadow. Trees were thick on either side of the path, and one could not see more than a few feet on either side.  It was eerily still, and scary. She didn’t feel anything evil in the air. The sourness of hate and malice was not there._

_Which was something she wouldn’t have known about a year prior. Now she had been around true evil and knew that they could not hide their malice. The very air crackled with it._

_No. It was not evil that made the woods fearful, but it was power. Something other worldly and old. Powerful and not in the least bit safe._

_She took another step forward and adjusted her hold on Thorin as she went. The baby was silent against her as though he sensed the seriousness of their mission. His hand had fisted the braid that hung beside her ear and he held onto it as he peered around the shadows. He was sucking on his thumb and she hoped he continued to do so. At least if his mouth was occupied he wouldn’t make any noise._

_ With each step forward she took, she could feel more eyes watching her. _

-[]-[]-[]-

More arrows fired from who knew where fired as Thorin ran forward. He kept his eyes on his fallen brother and moved as quickly as he could. He slid to the ground by Dwalin's still form and grabbed the dwarf's fur-covered shoulder. He was given a grunt as a response but Dwalin' pushed himself up at Thorin's instance. Once he had him upright he darted to the other side of the tree.

"Who are they?"

"I could not tell." Dwalin exhaled loudly and pressed back against the tree as another arrow shot past them. Thorin gripped his limb more tightly and wished violently for a better weapon.

"Come out, poachers!" The voice was surprisingly high, young or feminine. Thorin wasn't sure which it was. It was not the sort of voice he'd been expecting, and he could only give Dwalin a confused look at the sound of it.

Dwalin looked equally confused. 'A girl?' He mouthed. Thorin shrugged and held still.

"Do you hear me? Or are you deaf as well as dumb?" The voice was louder now, which likely meant its owner was nearer.

Dwalin caught his attention. He pointed at Thorin's chest and then pointed at the limbs above them. He then pointed to his own lips. "What reasons have we to come out?" He shouted before pointing to the limbs once more. Thorin nodded his head in understanding and jumped up to grab hold of the limb over his head. He hauled himself up on it and then held still to see if their attackers noticed.

"Because I will soon have you surrounded. If you continue to evade me, I will not be kind."

"And shooting at us is kind? What have we done to you?"

Thorin reached for another branch and pulled himself still higher as silently as possible. He settled himself on the branch and once his balance was sound he shuffled forward. He pressed against the trunk and tilted to the left. There were enough leaves that he should be difficult to see, but not too many to see through.

There were four people in the clearing between them and the forest's edge. They all wore green hoods that obscured their faces, and were of varying heights. Two were likely dwarves, as they were shorter than the others. One had to be an elf for its height, and the last was likely human. They were dressed in leathers and wools that looked as though they had known a lot of use. They were dirt splattered, and rough from life outdoors. Three of them had bows with arrows cocked while the fourth, and shortest, stood at the front with a staff of some sort.

He had never seen their like.

"What had the bees done to you that you so heartlessly murdered them and stole their treasure?" It was the short one that spoke.

A female dwarf, perhaps? Were they shorter than males? He hadn't actually met one to know.

"We did not murder any bees!" Dwalin sounded outraged at the accusation, which would have been funny at another time. Murdering bees wasn't typically regarded as an insult to honor.

"Then where are they? They would not let you steal their honey." The short one said it as though that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We put them to sleep. Smoked 'em out."

The shorter one looked to the dwarf that was nearest it. It lowered its bow and the other two followed its lead. The leader took one step forward and pushed its hood back. Honey colored curls danced in the sunlight and Thorin found his mouth opening in surprise. It was a male, though not a dwarf. His face was clean shaven with no sign of a beard having ever existed. The pointed tips of ears could be seen poking through the curls, but he was far too short to be an elf.

What was he then? If it was a he. It might have been a she with short hair. His cloak was covering his body, so Thorin could not look to it for hints as to the creature's identity.

The archers cocked their arrows once more as the little one strode forward. He didn't stop until he was directly in front of the tree, mere feet from Thorin's perch. He looked up at the hive with light eyes, sorrow evident on his face. He stared for what felt like a long time before lowering his head and staring at where he clearly believed Dwalin to be.

"Prove it."

The words echoed around the clearing, oddly daring.  He heard Dwalin rustle behind the tree and his heart leapt to his throat. His brother would move around without realizing betrayal was on the hearts of their attackers. He hatched a plan in a breath, and acted on it before it could even be fully thought out.

He jumped down from his perch and landed directly in front of the male that had threatened them. His attacker gasped in surprise and that was all he gave the small one time for. He surged upwards and took hold of the creature's shoulder. He spun him around and jerked him back. His arm went around the other's throat and the other hand went to the staff. He forced it from the creature's grip and tossed it aside.

"Stop!" he ordered before the archers could fire. The bows were now all aimed at him. Dwalin, as he had believed he would, appeared around the edge with a lit branch. The fool would have gone to his own death. "Do not fire if you care for this one at all."

"Are they dead?" The creature's voice, still oddly musical for a male, was quiet and extremely mournful. Whoever he thought dead, it was a severe loss to him.

"Who?" He snapped while Dwalin moved towards him. He had no idea what to do now. He had not expected to get this far.

"The bees."

"No. They become docile around smoke. It is the best method to extract honey." He had no reason to answer, and yet he found himself doing so. Dwalin picked the staff up and eyed him in confusion. He avoided the gaze and looked out at the archers. They had cloth over their mouths which made it difficult to tell anything about them.

Dwalin took his position by Thorin's side and passed the staff to his other side. He glanced at Thorin and the dwarf understood in a moment that he was about to regret whatever Dwalin said.

"Go back to your forest, and let us return to ours. We're going to take your little friend here until we're out of sight. Then we'll return him." Thorin's captive turned to look at Dwalin but stopped the motion when it made his throat press against Thorin's arm. He winced and one of the archers stepped forward.

"How do we know you will not kill him?"

"You have my word. I will not harm this one." Dwalin pounded his chest and bowed as he took the oath.

"Nor will I. By the great star do I swear this." The small creature in his arms turned its head to look up at him. He had shockingly green eyes.

"Do not swear on such things lightly." It was a clear warning, and sounded as if the creature was genuinely worried about his wellbeing.

"I do not swear on anything lightly."

The archer lowered his bow the slightest bit. "What choice do we have? Go and know that if we are betrayed your lives will be forfeited." Thorin took a step back, dragging his captive with him.

He wasn't certain how to feel about that. He wasn't even certain what had just happened. He'd started the day simply wanting to gather some honey for Imoen. Now he had a captive and an oath to keep.

The next step was easier to take, and the one after still easier. He slipped between the trees with Dwalin by his side. He continued further and deeper into the small patch of trees.

There was now the question of where to take him. He couldn't lead him back to their village less the archers decide to seek revenge. He didn't trust the others to actually leave though. He stopped by an oak tree and turned to his brother. Dwalin was scowling and clenching the staff in his hand.

"I am never listening to you again."

"It could not be helped."

"Which is why I'm never listening to you again! We just kidnapped something!"

"Oi!" The creature snapped his head towards Dwalin and glared without appearing to care that it pressed his throat against Thorin's arm. "I'm not a 'something' I'm a Hobbit. Bilbo Baggins"

Dwalin blinked at him in confusion. Thorin searched his own memories for the word. It was vaguely familiar, like some detail from a dream. Some thought you wished you could retrieve. "What is a Hobbit?"

"What's a hobbit?" The hobbit stuttered, sounding thoroughly outraged. "Have you grown up under a rock? We’re also called Halflings?" Dwalin gave his head a shake to show he had no idea what the creature was talking about. The hobbit huffed in annoyance. "Melekun? I think that's what you lot call us."

Dwalin met Thorin's eyes over the halfling's head. Thorin could do nothing but shrug. He had no idea what it meant by 'their lot' calling him something.

"Maker above! Ori says I need to practice my khuzdul, but it was close enough."

Khuzdul? What was he rambling about? Dwalin's gaze made it quite clear he didn't know either.

"Hobbit," he growled the word a little, uneasy about what a hobbit was, and worried that the halfling's friends would be searching for them soon. They needed to get away before that happened, "you will stay here. Brother, guard me while I release him."

"Bilbo. Bil- _bo_. I have a name. I am not a thing or a simple race. Honestly. What were you two even doing out here?"

"Looking for honey, obviously." Dwalin grumbled while Thorin slowly relaxed his grip on the hobbit's neck. Bilbo rolled his head when it was released but made no other move.  The woods were silent around them which gave him courage that no one else was coming.  Still, archers could easily hide in the trees and kill them when the hobbit was released.

He would not betray his word. He had sworn to release this creature when he was safe. If he was harmed, he would hold onto his own honor.

"Did you ask the bees for any?"

Thorin had been loosening his grip on the hobbit's chest, but those words made him tighten it right back up. His eyes snapped to Dwalin who was staring at the hobbit incredulously. He had an eyebrow raised and his expression made it clear he found the halfling entirely crazy. The hobbit tsked. "That's the problem with nearly everyone. They think it crazy to ask."

Thorin released him and took a step back. Dwalin shuffled towards him slowly. His face was genuinely concerned for the creatures. Thorin decided that humoring it would be their best method of escape for the moment. “We do not speak the same language.” He took another step back while the hobbit turned towards them. He had a furious scowl on his face.

“Have you ever actually listened to them?” He waved his hand through the air, not noticing that Thorin and Dwalin were retreating. “Magic may be dying but you can still hear it in the air.” Bilbo’s eyes slipped shut as he spoke and a strangely wistful expression passed over his face. One that had Thorin wanting to close his own eyes.

But magic was not real. It had passed from the world ages ago. The song that had seen them created had faded from the air until it was only a memory. Imoen had told him stories of magic when he was a child, but that what they were. Stories.

Dwalin caught his attention with a wave of his hand. The dwarf made a motion that meant ‘retreat,’ and Thorin nodded his head. Were he by himself he might have spoken with the hobbit, learned more of him and what he was speaking of. He would not risk Dwalin, and Imoen would be worrying about them very soon. They had already been gone overly long. He repeated the motion back to Dwalin and they both walked backwards as the hobbit turned his face upwards. His curls danced in the wind, and for a second it seemed as if the sun was shining through the leaves to make him glow.  Thorin’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, and Dwalin stilled by his side.

It was the momentary delay that cost them.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin woke up with a headache worse than any he had ever endured. It was so painful that he could scarcely breathe, and he was instantly nauseous. He rolled to his side and emptied the contents of his stomach before he even managed to open his eyes.

The floor was cold and hard, not the warm and soft texture of the quilt he always slept on. Even the floor of their cottage was covered with hay so that it stayed warmer.

The nausea settled a little once his stomach was empty, so he focused on opening his eyes. His vision swam violently, and the bright blur before his eyes caused his head to ache all the more.

It was a decidedly grey blur. His cottage was brown, not grey.

He heaved a breath, ignored the foul taste in his mouth, and blinked his eyes. Three more blinks saw them marginally clear, and he could make out what the grey color was. Stones danced before his vision. Large stone slabs that had been cut into bricks and stacked on top of each other to form a wall.

He had never seen a stone wall. There were none to be found in his village. All the houses were made of wood, straw, or bricks. Materials that could be obtained easily and cheaply. No one he knew could afford so much for a wall.

He pushed himself upright shakily and considered the wall with a frown. He felt strangely outside of himself. He could not control his body very well, and he could hardly think past the pain in his head. Not even alcohol drove him to such agony.

The ground beneath him was stone as well. The same grey color, but a little more worn. It was cold, but he now realized the air around him was chilled as well. He had no recollection of this place. He could not even recall falling asleep-

Actually, he could not seem to recall anything.

Panic, hot and sudden, flashed through his mind and gut. It settled around his mind like a fog and made it impossible to think. His breath left in a strangled gasp that turned into a cloud when it hit the air. It disappeared as his hands shook in their effort to hold him upright, and he whipped his head around in fright. His braids fell over his arm as he did so, a feeling that should have been familiar but was somehow wrong. There was another stone wall to his left, and yet another to his right. The view didn’t change at all until he turned to look behind himself.

The wall was nearly all stone, but there was a door in the middle of it that had a small window cut out of it. Black bars covered it, but it would be able to be seen through.

Thorin got to his feet in a jerky movement that did nothing for his head, and then stumbled towards the door with all the grace of a drunkard. He tripped on the stone and realized he was bare foot. He stopped in shock at that fact and peered down at himself.

He had never seen the clothes he wore. They were, like the room he was in, grey. It was a coarse material that was rather itchy, now that he was aware of it, and hung off him loosely. His breeches had been traded in for strange braies that were thin as linen. The tunic was long enough to cover his dignity, but nothing he wore would provide much, if any, warmth.

He spared the strange clothes nothing more than a cursory glance before returning his attention to the window. Freedom must come first. Everything else could follow that.

The door was made of thickly cut wood. It had been painted with something to make it darker and was oddly sticky to the touch. Still, Thorin pressed against it and stood on the tip of his bare toes so that he could look out the window. He was apparently tall for a dwarf, but this had clearly been made for an elf.

He was at the end of some sort of corridor. A torch was hung on the wall to the right of his room and lit a little of the area, but not enough to really know what he was looking at. He could feel no handle on the door, nor were there any visible hinges.

It was too much to remain standing on his toes, so he released his hold and fell back on his heel. His heart felt as though it were fluttering in a strange rhythm that was entirely unstable. The ground felt uneven beneath him, and each breath was an effort.

He took another step back, and then another. He kept moving away from the door without really seeing until his back was flat against the rear wall. He sank down along it slowly, his legs anything but trustworthy. Fully seated, he brought his knees to his chest and propped his arms on them. He dropped his head onto his arms and focused on breathing out. It was painful to do so, and worse still to inhale. The oxygen felt too heavy and his lungs did not seem to want it.  There was a fine tremor in his limbs that he could not be rid of, and did not feel terribly important in light of his circumstances.

Exhale… Inhale… Exhale… Inhale…

It was familiar rhythm, one he had practiced with Imoen since he was a little child. She suffered from nightmares unlike anyone else he had ever known, and often woke with her mind still trapped in whatever dark place she had dreamt of. He would call to her with Dwalin and then they would count out her breaths. Dwalin would even hum a lullaby for her. Thorin usually played his harp until she could return to sleep.

It was the first time he’d had to use it on himself.

The cool darkness his arms provided helped to steady his heart. The tremor was still pronounced, but he was able to notice it, which felt like quite a step forward. All he could focus on was each breath, and there was no light to filter in-

Light?

Thorin lifted his head sharply and looked around. There was a faint orange glow around the window in his door, but the light that was filling his room wasn’t orange. It was more blue in color, and bright enough that he could see.

He couldn’t find a source for it.

His first thought was that it had to be starlight. It was the color of night light, and held the coolness that the dark hours always did. There was no window for it to filter through. There was not even a crack. He could not have truthfully said which wall-if any- faced the outside. No, the strange blue light was not coming from any visible source. It was simply in the air. Everywhere, subtle in color and effect. It was thicker in some areas, but there was no corner that was completely untouched.

He stared at it in confusion and did not notice that his pulse and breath calmed while he looked. He sat up right and leaned against the wall while he examined the square room he found himself in. There seemed to be more light in the corner he was in.

He could not understand what he was seeing. He had never seen a glow like it, and he could not recall any story that spoke of such things.

That thought brought his attention back to his memory. His mind was clearer now that it was calmer. He tilted his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling through the strange glow. He stared up without really seeing, and tried to search through his memories. He could remember the morning clearly enough. Dwalin’s moan at being asked to gather honey, and the laugh that Imoen had given at his dramatics. He could remember going through the field and assisting Farmer Maggot with his fence on their way. He recalled how easy it was to make Dwalin climb the tree, and how quickly the dwarf had stopped moving forward.

He could remember the strange archers and his fear for his brother’s life. The sound of Dwalin’s body hitting the ground echoed in his ears. The feel of his steady pulse under Thorin’s fingers. The strangeness of capturing ‘Bilbo.’ And then…

Nothing. It was blank.

He’d backed up with Dwalin and watched as the hobbit was hit with sunlight. There had been a twig crack and his heart had pounded for nothing but a moment. He could not remember what had happened next. Just a sense of dread and pain. Pain that he still felt in his head. Had the archers betrayed their word?

It couldn’t be. He had a strange feeling that Bilbo-whoever he was- had cried out with them, though he could not remember screaming. Still, there was soreness to his throat that spoke of over using his vocal chords.

Thorin exhaled slowly and unwrapped his legs. He was in a cell with no memory how he had gotten there. He was clothed in items that were not his, and he had no shoes. The room was glowing through no means that he could find, and he had a pounding headache. There were no obvious injuries.

What had happened to him?


End file.
